04-09-2016, 04:36 AM
Home for me is a hill top view.
Mist filled valleys
and distant minor mountains
divert my eyes from the M5 to linger,
searching for the school clock tower,
tucked behind the mauve mounds
of Malvern.
I don’t know how or why,
but each county has a unique tell;
a feel, a smell.
It is that intangible
something that you miss.
A certain “homeness” sensation
that can never be sent in a care package,
like a favourite brand of tea.
My part of Dartmoor
is softer, more rounded.
The soil smells cleaner;
less earthy somehow.
Bluebells and dog roses
and a thousand other flowers
fill the spaces in between
my home hills and here
and after fifteen years
I think the view
from the top of the hill
looks right.
rough bones of a poem only - Found this a hard prompt.
Mist filled valleys
and distant minor mountains
divert my eyes from the M5 to linger,
searching for the school clock tower,
tucked behind the mauve mounds
of Malvern.
I don’t know how or why,
but each county has a unique tell;
a feel, a smell.
It is that intangible
something that you miss.
A certain “homeness” sensation
that can never be sent in a care package,
like a favourite brand of tea.
My part of Dartmoor
is softer, more rounded.
The soil smells cleaner;
less earthy somehow.
Bluebells and dog roses
and a thousand other flowers
fill the spaces in between
my home hills and here
and after fifteen years
I think the view
from the top of the hill
looks right.
rough bones of a poem only - Found this a hard prompt.